


Wash Over Me

by ButterfliesAndPenguins



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Scars, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterfliesAndPenguins/pseuds/ButterfliesAndPenguins
Summary: Aglovale's plans for the night of his first secret tryst with Siegfried have gone awry, but he vows to make it up to him another way. Tending to Siegfried's wounds, they spend the night in an unexpected and equally new kind of intimacy.
Relationships: Aglovale/Siegfried (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Wash Over Me

Aglovale stopped in his tracks. He had been pacing again. A ridiculous habit he had reprimanded himself time and time again to shed. He took up a quill for a distraction, surely there was some business he was neglecting by tonight’s planned indulgence. He barely managed some lines and a few ticks of ink tapped against the paper in mild agitation. Useless. That’s how this whole ordeal was making him. 

_ Where in the skies was Siegfried?? _

They had exchanged promises to meet tonight, planned weeks in advance, as Aglovale had schemed excuses to turn his guards away during these specific hours, giving way for Siegfried to approach his chambers undetected. All was arranged for the tryst—Aglovale meant to ensure their first romantic night together would be lacking nothing. He had set out each of the lit candles himself, stocked fine wine at the ready, and even scattered some subtly-placed rose petals at the risk of exceeding Siegfried’s blunt tastes. The preparations had eased his nerves at first, but looking at them now he felt agitated. It was several hours past the time they had agreed upon. Admittedly there could be many reasons for the knight to be delayed, but Aglovale couldn’t help wondering cynically if he was about to be made a fool by setting his heart on something—on someone—like this.

The king winced, a bitter distaste for his own nature rising like bile in his throat. Being alone with his thoughts was always bad company. 

And yet—where  _ was _ Siegfried? Aglovale had specified in their arrangements to the exact hour and routes, could the knight not make time to honor the scarce minutes they had to devote fully to one another? Aglovale was beginning to regret the second half of that letter where he had confessed words of desire, with more intimate details of his wishes for the first night Siegfried would share his bed. 

Perhaps he stayed away out of fear. Was Aglovale’s position too daunting? Had Siegfried deemed it too much strife to entangle himself in a king’s love yet again? Or was it possible that Aglovale did not know his heart as well as he had thought, and Siegfried’s passion was simply not what he had judged it to be?

It was tiresomely late. The empty doorway leered, mocking him silently. Aglovale half-considered calling his guards back and retiring for the night. Reluctantly he resolved to sit up in his receiving room to at least offer the courtesy of confronting Siegfried on the chance he should ever arrive. More minutes passed. The rain outside his window began to beat more heavily, and he heard the distant possibility of thunder. 

Finally there was a scrape at the bolt on his door. Then the clatter of plate armor, this particular timbre of which he knew so well. When Siegfried entered he was haggard and dripping with rainwater, but Aglovale did not parse the situation until he saw the gash at one of his leather cinches and watched a droplet of blood hit his stone floor. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the knight’s side.

What a fool Aglovale had been.

He was quick to tug the door shut, ushering Siegfried inside and listening to the growl of his ragged breathing. The knight shrugged off his enormous sword and leaned it against the hearth. Shreds of his cloak were tattered at the shoulder, and Aglovale could clearly see the gash of claw marks along his side.

“I’m sorry, I was held up by this weather…” he gasped, his hunched silhouette casting an eerie shadow behind him. “And on the road, I was attacked. Monsters—I dealt with them, but—”

“Are you injured?” Aglovale asked, concern flaring bright in his voice.

“Not badly, not anymore. That is… I think they’ve mostly healed on their own, thanks to the dragonsblood. Just a little worse for wear, I’m afraid.”

Aglovale gave him a light frown, always disapproving in vain of his carelessness.

“I got here as quickly as I could—”

“It’s alright,” Aglovale interrupted him sharply, almost like a command. He handed him a towel and the knight blotted distractedly at the blood and grit below his breastplate. “It was my mistake to ask this in the first place…”

“I did wish to meet with you… truly...” Siegfried protested, but Aglovale’s stomach only soured further with shame. How much pressure he had put on both of them for this secret encounter when really, was this not something that should bloom naturally, even spontaneously between lovers?

Hearing the frustration in the knight’s voice chilled him like swallowing ice. He suddenly felt the weary weight of the burden he was placing on Siegfried, setting all their time on Aglovale’s terms and asking him to dance around all his royal duties. He had grown reliant on Siegfried’s tolerance, allowing him to keep shrugging off the strain, and then believing him out of convenience. Siegfried was a free man, able to be with anyone he should want. It was only Aglovale causing them all this struggle to scrape together a relationship in the shadows. It wasn’t just the monsters he met on the road that was making Siegfried this exhausted, and he finally recognized the anxiety it was causing him as well. All at once the games, the sneaking about that had once felt dangerous and exciting felt suddenly wretched and tedious. It was grating and smothering rather than like kindling for the thrill to their romance. All it had done to them was steal time away from one another, adding grief to these new and fragile ties between them. He was furious at the injustice of it, more on his partner’s behalf than for himself. Aglovale felt a cold rush of protective instinct and had to resist the urge to use it to shield himself and pull away. At the same time he felt the manic impulse to take Siegfried’s hand and run, dragging them both out into the storm and away from these halls, this snare of a crown that was assigned to him before his first shriek of human existence. 

He bit his lip, finding his habitual fierce composure was all too easy to disappear back into. He took a deep breath, centering himself and swallowing back his selfish wishes. 

“I am sorry to always expect this of you,” he said quietly, trying to siphon away the uncertainty before it escaped in his voice. “It is unfair of me. You deserve far more.”

Siegfried blinked up at him, confused at first, but then reading the meaning on his face.

“I promise I’ll find a way to make this easier on both of us. You’ve dealt with all my foolishness admirably. I am truly grateful to you.”

Siegfried grimaced, carefully shedding his belt and scabbard to indicate he was staying. “I suppose I often lose sight of the difficulty... when I can’t help rushing back to your side.” He was still breathing with some effort.

“I vow to make it up to you. Both forthcoming, and here, tonight.”

Siegfried set his face, determined, and began unclasping his armor. “I am not too worn, I can still make the most of the night with you, even though it was cut short.” He removed his clawed, plated gloves and Aglovale began to comprehend his foolhardy meaning. “We can still be intimate—”

Aglovale couldn’t hold back a loud, exasperated laugh. Siegfried truly meant to continue on as planned in his condition, covered in grime and blood, with no awareness of the mood of their situation, all to keep his promise. Even if his battered body could handle it, there was nothing enticing left in the prospect of the emotions of a first encounter, of trying to learn one another’s new bodies, at this exhausted hour. Far less appealing was the thought of doing so covered in mud and beasts’ gore. Despite himself, Aglovale felt a stab of affection for this absurdly determined knight, utterly devoted amidst his folly. 

“There’s no hope of that tonight, what you need is rest. Come with me, we’ll get you cleaned and dry.”

Genuine pain swept over Siegfried’s brow and his eyes were filled with regret. “But… our evening together… It was supposed to be—”

“It’s alright. Another time,” Aglovale brushed back Siegfried’s damp bangs. “I promise you, we will have many,  _ many _ other evenings if I have anything to say about it.”

Siegfried winced in defeat, finally meeting his gaze directly. Aglovale held his face in his hands for a moment, a dozen promises building behind his lips, but kept all of them silent in favor of the night remaining as simple as possible. 

“All that matters is that you came back to me in one piece. Besides, we still have an evening to spend together, do we not?”

Siegfried nodded wearily, a smile pulling reluctantly at his mouth.

“Then I will savor every moment with you.” Aglovale pressed his forehead to Siegfried’s gently. He was hot from exertion, but his skin was chilled with rainwater. That, at least, Aglovale knew how to cure. Pulling back he surveyed the knight’s condition, examining the gash at his side. It appeared his armor had taken the worst of the blows. Though the bruising would likely be a fierce ache in the morning.

“Your wounds at least need tending.”

Siegfried tensed. “Ah—perhaps I should see your physician, I could come back when—”

Aglovale clasped his hand, staying it firmly. “I have everything we’ll need here. Besides, if you’ll allow me this one selfishness… I’d rather not have anyone else’s hands on you tonight.”

Siegfried laughed quietly. “Alright. If you insist.”

“I do,” Aglovale kissed his cheek gently. “Shall I help you undress?”

The knight nodded, beginning to unfasten his many straps, slowly peeling off the plates smeared with grime and allowing Aglovale to set them aside carefully. Aglovale was struck by the odd shift in this ritual that they might have performed quite differently had the evening gone as intended. But any passion that might have fueled the act before was replaced by a gentler, stranger kind of intimacy, as Siegfried exposed himself layer by layer and awaited the king’s touch. There were cuts on his collarbone, some below his ribs where talons had pierced his armor, and raw outlines at his wrists and shoulders where the metal plates had bitten into his skin from exertion. Aglovale traced his fingertips over those and pressed a kiss to them soothingly. Siegfried blinked nervously.

Turning away to gather supplies, the king quickly soaked a cloth in some salve and began blotting the dirt and blood from his shallow wounds. He expected Siegfried to wince, but the knight watched tiredly, as if it were another man’s arm being treated. Aglovale frowned, moving over each cut with precision until they were each cleaned. He squinted up at Siegfried’s tangled hair, tugging at a bit of caked mud.

“At least allow me to wash you properly?” Aglovale asked, shaking his head with a smile.

Siegfried nodded sheepishly, and Aglovale motioned for him to remove his boots, then led him through his chambers to the bath. Siegfried tensed as his feet tracked dark grit across the lush carpet, looking as out of place as a scolded stray dog. The king waved it off, knowing someone would clean it later, and ushered him inside over the marble floor of his private bath, drawing the hot water and letting the steam instantly fill the room with a magically soothing scent. 

He brought out a stool and offered Siegfried a towel. As odd as it seemed since they had planned to make love together this night, he felt this was an even more vulnerable sense of nakedness, and instead wanted Siegfried to have the freedom to feel comfortable. Siegfried removed the last of his clothes and tied the towel around his waist, sitting on the stool as directed. He was a bit large for the stool and hunched forward, almost bat-like—no, dragon-like, over his own knees. Aglovale laughed softly and Siegfried glanced quizzically over his shoulder.

“Tilt your head back for me, love,” Aglovale coaxed, raising a pitcher of shimmering water and pouring it carefully over his head so none ran into his eyes. He gathered the dark hair into a loose twist and began combing shampoo through it, scrubbing to work out the tangles and mud from the storm outside. As his fingers worked, pulling and scraping gently against his scalp, Siegfried’s shoulders began to droop, his muscles all seeming to finally unclench and relax from the warm touch. Aglovale pretended not to notice, continuing to carefully work through every inch of Siegfried’s hair, smoothing the suds back and sweeping his thin finger’s over the man’s brow. He worked silently, pouring another pitcher to wash the soap away and gently wringing the water from his hair, then sweeping it aside and working soap into the skin along his neck and shoulders. Siegfried sighed, exhaling his weariness and melting against Aglovale’s touch. There was no more apprehension in his posture, and he allowed the king to groom him and work his aching muscles, leaning into his hands gratefully. 

A slow satisfaction pooled in Aglovale’s chest as he watched the relief wash over Siegfried’s face. It pleased him to know that his own hands were the source of Siegfried’s momentary peace. He could tell this was a gesture Siegfried would never have accepted from anyone else.

He reached for a sponge, rubbing circles along Siegfried’s scarred, muscular back. As he lifted one of the knight’s arms to scrub beneath them, a strong sense-memory flashed before him of washing his brother Percival when they were children. Percival had outgrown the age of refusing to bathe, but after their mother had died he sometimes asked Aglovale to reach his back, just as she had done for each of them as toddlers. A simple, comforting gesture that, from behind, must have felt the same as if their mother was still there. Blinking the memory away, Aglovale saw that Siegfried’s eyes were covered by his own dark, damp hair. He was very quiet, face downcast. Aglovale wondered if he was suddenly overtaken by the weariness of the day, or if he was being visited by his own memories. Had there ever been a time when someone bathed him like this before?  _ For that matter, when was the last time anyone took care of you at all, Siegfried? _

Pouring more hot water over his skin, Aglovale wiped away the suds to see an odd, gnarled scar between Siegfried’s broad shoulder blades. It was pale with taught, twisted skin, as if it had healed much too quickly for such a severe wound. Aglovale considered keeping quiet so as not to pry into the man’s past—scars, after all, were no invitation for gawking questions. But after having tended to Siegfried’s fresher cuts, and here in this personal setting it felt natural somehow. The words had left his lips before he could even gather them back in.

“How long ago was this wound?”

Siegfried raised his head from a slight daze, peering back over his shoulder.

“Ah. A gift from an old ally.” He laughed dryly. “There have been many rumors about me for some years now. The man who first tried to feed me to Fafnir later once believed one that this was somehow my only weak spot. That dragon’s blood made me heal over while his spear was still inside me,” Siegfried grimaced, pointing to a twin scar on his abdomen where he had clearly been run through. “Made quite a mess to remove.”

“I can imagine,” Aglovale raised an eyebrow.

“Well, now you can see, you needn’t worry too much over my safety. I can withstand quite a monstrous amount.”

Aglovale traced the edges of the mark with his wet cloth before carefully scrubbing the rest of his back. 

“It must have felt unfathomably painful at the time,” he countered calmly.

Siegfried was quiet as the splash of water echoed along the walls of the bath. 

“Healed wounds don’t always cease to be painful, in my experience.”

“Hm.” Siegfried acknowledged softly, losing himself in thought.

Aglovale finished washing Siegfried to his satisfaction and wrapped him with a warm, dense towel, letting him dry off and fetching fine silk robes for both of them. He smiled to watch Siegfried’s amusement at finding the enchanted fabrics had warmed and dried his hair instantly. 

The king led them from the bath and into his bedchamber, still lit romantically with dozens of candles. Siegfried hunched awkwardly, guilt flickering along his face once again for their dismantled plans. Aglovale flicked a gust of frost along the walls and instantly doused the extra candles, swirling aside the rose petals as well.

“There, that’s more suitable for the moment,” he smiled, turning down the elegant covers on his bed and offering Siegfried a seat. He reached for something at his bedside table as the knight joined him.

“This will help soothe the ache and stiffness,” Aglovale assured him, pouring an enchanted lotion from a bottle onto his fingertips and working it between them. It carried a cooling, herbal scent and tingled pleasantly in his hands. Siegfried hummed gratefully as Aglovale worked it into the skin along his shoulders and back. His eyelids were relaxing heavily and Aglovale placed a tender kiss along his neck from behind, then another at his shoulder, and one on his drooping forehead. Siegfried lifted his chin enough to smile drowsily up at him, and Aglovale leaned in for a slow, lingering kiss against his lips. When they broke apart, the breath from Siegfried’s heavy, contented sigh tickled Aglovale’s chin. He couldn’t help but chuckle fondly.

“Let me bring you some herbal tea,” Aglovale whisked away and returned with a warm, delicate cup of his own personal blend. Siegfried sipped it gratefully when offered. “I brew this on troubled nights. It is enchanted to help you sleep.” 

Eyes wide, Siegfried glanced up from his cup hesitantly. “Oh, I had hoped to stay awake for a while yet… It’s just that I don’t want to miss a moment while I’m finally in your arms.”

Aglovale sighed, touched by Siegfried’s inexhaustible earnestness, but feeling determined not to let on. “Have you always been the sort to refuse your medicine?” he scolded with a smile. “Suit yourself. But what you need most is rest. My arms will still be here when you wake,” he pressed another placating kiss to the crown of Siegfried’s head, and the knight sipped his drink obligingly.

When Siegfried had finished his cup, Aglovale offered him a set of his own bedclothes. Putting them on, Seigfried clearly felt strange in such quality silken fabric, but he was too tired to object, quickly succumbing to being spoiled. The sight of him being pampered to the level Aglovale himself indulged in was deeply pleasing. The king made a mental promise to continue this habit, especially when Siegfried was sleepy and vulnerable. He kissed Siegfried’s lips once more and lifted the bedcovers for him invitingly.

“Lie back, I will join you,” he whispered. The knight obeyed, squinting quizzically at the softness of the mattress as he sank down into it. Aglovale slipped under the sheets on the opposite side off the bed and slid close to him. Siegfried’s skin was always warm, likely from the dragonfire that lurked in his veins, but now that his skin had been heated by the bath it was terribly inviting. 

As he reached out to touch it, Siegfried surprised him by turning over and whispering, “Come closer,” wrapping his arms around Aglovale first. Siegfried pulled him in and held him warmly, firmly, and pressed a possessive kiss to the base of the king’s neck. Siegfried’s body engulfed his, curved against the bend of his legs and dissolving any remaining distance between them. It was overwhelming, almost painfully so. Aglovale felt his own tension falling away just as he had watched in Siegfried earlier, and his heart ached to be held so lovingly, so unhesitatingly.

Siegfried kissed his neck, his hair, and his temple, and murmured, “I love you, Aglovale. I’ve wanted to hold you like this for so long. Just the two of us, with no one to interfere, and no end in sight… at least for tonight.” His voice was a low rumble, that deep richness coming through even in his gentle tone. His sigh pooled over Aglovale’s skin as Siegfried whispered against his hair. “You feel so perfect in my arms.”

Emotion tightened at Aglovale’s throat and he blinked with difficulty. Reaching out behind him, he grasped Siegfried’s hand and laced their fingers together. Though he tried to push away the thought, Aglovale could not remember the last time he had been held in anyone’s arms. Perhaps, despite his position, they were both estranged from themselves in some fundamental way. He realized that out of all the things he had longingly anticipated for tonight, this was what he had desired most of all. After everything was settled, the closeness afterward—the trust, the warmth, the steadiness. He had wanted Siegfried’s skin pressed against his like this as they fell asleep together in the comfort of each other’s presence, and the promise of more nights like these. He could hear Siegfried’s breath slowing and knew they were both about to drift off to sleep with a cruel swiftness. He knew he had to respond to such a perfect declaration.

Words failed him and the knot in his throat clenched painfully, so he tugged at the fingers laced in his and kissed Siegfried’s hand, whispering, “Don’t let go.”

Siegfried smiled against his skin and squeezed his hand in reply. “Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I technically finally got around to writing a "First Time Fic" for these two! [whomp whomp]  
> Hopefully someday I'll actually write their first time.
> 
> Siegfried Lore Corner: It was Hagen who gave him the scar Aglovale asked about.  
> In the Nibelungenlied, Hagen asks Kriemhild (there she is Siegfried's wife) what his one weakness is, under the lie that he will protect that spot. Kriemhild replies that Siegfried's skin is impervious to weapons (possibly from being hard as dragon scales? it depends on what legend you read) everywhere but one spot. She indicates that spot by tying a cloth on Siegfried's armor between the shoulder blades. This is, in fact, German Siegfried's only weak spot. (It's also never mentioned until this point in the story because the Nibelungenlied is kind of a terribly constructed narrative, full shade to ancient Germanic poets)  
> Siegfried, Gunther, and Hagen all go out in a hunting party (where Siegfried is an extremely rowdy jock and lets a bear loose on their camp as a prank, haha real funny, bro). Hagen tricks Siegfried to get him alone and unarmed in the woods. Siegfried stoops to drink from a stream and Hagen takes his chance to hurl his spear and stab him in the back between the shoulder blades, killing him.
> 
> I like to believe GBF Siegfried bears a scar in the same place from one of the several attacks GBF Hagen has made on him.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I have a bunch of fics for these two if you would like more, and I like to slip real Siegfried/Sigurd lore into them, too :)
> 
> Update:  
> Shoutout to [@mobasaure](https://twitter.com/mobasaure) for [drawing the bath scene from this fic!](https://twitter.com/mobasaure/status/1299121822361935874)


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